Mo Cheannsa
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: "We both know that the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day." Part of the Ean Beag Arc; follows 'Getting Her Irish On'. Murphy / Pam (OFC) centric with some Connor / Pam. Because who doesn't want Murphela? M for reasons.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is my birthday gift to incog_ninja, first and foremost, and a treat for those of you who have been dying to see Murphy and Pamela (from my Éan Beag arc) together for some sexy times. I had originally intended for this to be a short little romp, but the more I wrote, the more angsty and sexy it became. For those of you who know my style and my likes and dislikes, I'm not a fan of songfic, but I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I was mostly inspired by the Arctic Monkeys' most recent album 'AM', specifically the tracks 'Do I Wanna Know' and 'Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High'._

_The title is Gaelic, meaning 'my possession'; according to a recent reviewer for 'Yours and Mine', there is no actual word for 'mine' (possessive) in the Gaelic language, and mo cheannsa / is liomsa thú are as close as you can get._

_This takes place right after 'Getting Her Irish On', and was supposed to be an AU one-off, but sometimes things don't go according to plan. In this case, it's for the better. The ending may seem abrupt, but I think there will be some resolving of issues herein as I work on To the Bone._

_Happy Birthday, incog_ninja! I'm so glad this worked out and that you love it as much as I do! I hope everyone else does as well._

_Many thanks to Nmbr1Fanilow for taking a first look, pointing out my tiny spelling errors, and asking the questions that needed to be asked._

* * *

The church is dark, not unlike his mood. It is, however, silent, and for Murphy, it is deafening, as all the words and thoughts of _her_, the way she shouted and screamed and cried and pleaded with him, all rattled around in his brain. He was thankful for his brother's late shift at the plant. He was thankful for _her_ double at the second hand store. He needed something to occupy his time, and as he had sat, silently self-flagellating on the couch, his fingers had twined into the smooth wooden beads of his rosary, sliding down until his fist curled around the little cross of steel and wood. The corners bit into his palm like a crude version of stigmata, and the pain brought him back to himself just a small bit – enough to know that he needed to get out of the apartment and away from his brother.

Away from _her_.

_"Forgive me, Father, fer I've sinned. It's been…" he pauses, staring blankly at his palms, before his vision swims and he sees his hand landing smartly on the tanned, pert cheek of his brother's woman's ass. "Two weeks," he breathes hoarsely, "since me last confession." He waits a beat, gathering his nerve. "I've coveted that which belongs to me brother. A woman."_

_A throat clears, and on the other side of the screen, Father Macklepenny shifts in his robes. The priest knows the voice, and he knows the brother, and he knows the sin. "Have you had impure thoughts of this woman?"_

_Murphy smirks on his side of the screen and leans back against the wall, staring into the overhead light. "Father, I fucked her on me brother's bed." He snickers as Macklepenny mutters a quick Hail Mary, but he continues. In for a penny, and all that. "M'sorry about tha language, Father," he continues. "But that's not tha only place, aye?"_

_Macklepenny cuts him off. "You took this woman against her will?"_

_The question makes Murphy sink his teeth into his bottom lip and as he takes a deep breath, he's transported back to just the night before, when he'd pushed Pam against the door of her flat as soon as he'd arrived, under the guise of another language lesson. Instead, he'd fumbled with the buttons on her blouse as she'd tried to push his hands aside. When he'd become frustrated, he'd torn the garment from the waistband of her pants, tugged and yanked until it went up her torso, up her arms, to tangle around her wrists. The hook on the back of the door was a convenient trap, and he'd shoved her back against the door, slipping her bindings over the hook above her head. Though she'd yelped, clearly startled, her eyes had been blazing with astonished lust._

_She hadn't said no, not once. Oh, but she'd fought him. He had the gouges from her fingernails on his shoulders to prove it._

_"Nay," Murphy finally answers the priest. He chuckles flatly. "Surprised she wasn't in here t'day, confessin' her own transgressions. Lust. Greed. Christ, Father, she was wanton."_

_Another Hail Mary sounds from the priest's side of the screen, and the man of the cloth clears his throat sharply. Murphy knows it's a warning. He was known for going all out in the confessional, and all his sins poured out – blasphemy and cursing included. If he couldn't pour his soul out to Connor, then why not here, where he was meant to do so?_

_"I've lied to me brother, Father. I've lied to this woman, and I've lied to meself. I just…" Murphy paused with a frown. "I don't know what ta do. I'd ask me brother fer advice, but clearly, that isn't the best course of action." Once more, his thoughts swarmed back, back to the night he'd first kissed Pam. He'd whispered how badly he wanted her, how it was killing him to watch Connor take and take and take, not sharing, and not caring, either, for slighting Murphy's feelings. He'd held her fast against her kitchen counter, his fingers trailing through her hair as he'd whispered his desire against her lips. And when he'd kissed her, she'd turned pliable, molding against him, and pursuing the hard, heavy heat that was barely restrained beneath his fly. He'd kissed her roughly, but she'd marked him with her teeth in his bottom lip before pulling away with a startled gasp. She'd bid him get out, her voice husky with arousal._

_He'd promised to return the next night that Connor was busy at work._

* * *

"D'ya know what ya do ta me, lass?"

The words are whispered in my ear as Connor moves over me, curling his fingers in mine.

My eyes slip shut tightly, trying to block out another voice, another brogue, the words almost identical. _Girl_, his brother had said. _D'ya know what ya do ta me, girl?_

Of course, Murphy had shown me, as Connor always did, but it was more than that. Connor would show me how I affected him, how precious I was to him, how he'd do anything for me.

Murphy, on the other hand, showed me how much he affected _me_, showed me how easily he found my deepest, darkest secrets, and how I'd do anything for him.

It had all started off so…I want to say innocently. I wish I _could_ say innocently. But I'm not that naïve. Seated next to Murphy, confessing what Connor had said to me in the very blazing depths of passion, I'd seen the darker twin's blue eyes flare as he translated for me. I'd blushed. I'd shifted on my stool, seated there at Doc's bar, and later that night, when I'd gone home and tucked myself into my bed, alone for the first time since I'd met Connor, I'd touched myself where I'd grown hot and damp with every lilting syllable Murphy had spoken.

I imagined his voice, not Connor's jovial, flirtatious baritone, but Murphy's husky, throaty growl, calling me a dirty little girl. I craved his scent, that which had clung to his wool coat when I'd hugged him goodbye – cold and yet spicy, lingering somewhere in the shadows. It made my blood surge between my thighs when I told myself that he'd lingered a little too long for a friendly "I'm your boyfriend's twin brother' hug; I imagined his lips, and his teeth, and his tongue as I skated my fingers over my nipples, only to delve further, into slick, hot folds. I couldn't decided what I wanted more, and two-handed, I brought myself off, fucking myself with two fingers in a what I guessed was a horrible substitute for what I needed most, while I toyed the barbell through my aching clit with my other hand.

It wasn't nearly enough. I knew it wouldn't be.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, where d'ya want ta start?" His question had been innocent enough, but as he sat back in Pam's kitchen chair and watched the brunette move about her kitchen to find him a glass for his whiskey, he came up with an answer to his own question. Several, in fact, as she pushed up on her toes, her long, curving torso stretching to reach the top shelf of the cupboard, her worn jeans hugging her ass and sitting low on her enticing hips. Murphy licked his lips and scrubbed a palm over his face before reaching for his cigarettes.

"Not in the house," Pam sang, without even casting a glance back over her shoulder.

Murphy paused, unlit cigarette already sitting snugly at the corner of his mouth, and he grinned sheepishly as Pam finally turned her sparkling eyes on him. "You just had one before you came up," she shrugged. "Can't you wait? I thought you were the patient one." She poured three fingers of whiskey into a glass and set it on the table in front of Murphy.

He grunted, feeling his cheeks turn pink. She was right; out of the two MacManus brothers, Murphy was known to be the patient one, the one that thought first, and acted second, while Connor thrived on his impulses. But as Pam moved away, her impossibly long hair brushed over Murphy's shoulder and he inhaled deeply. Her perfume, something sweet and alluring, filled his senses and he felt the hand resting on his thigh clench. Resisting the urge to just _take_, he snapped the cigarette from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear, and then reached for the whiskey.

"I know the basics," Pam suddenly spoke.

Murphy swam back to the task at hand, pushing thoughts of naked limbs and sweat from his mind. "Aye," he rasped, after swallowing half of the amber liquid in his glass.

"So…how about…I don't know…terms of endearment?"

"Whas that?" Murphy muttered, looking up to where Pam leaned her palms flat on the table and cocked an eyebrow at him. He had to tear his eyes from where the v neck of her t shirt clung to the tanned curves of her cleavage.

"Well," she continued casually, not noticing the way Murphy's blue eyes turned almost black. "That's where Connor started…so to speak." She shrugged. "I figure that's what I'll hear the most of, and I'd kind of like to have an idea of what he's saying."

Murphy worried his thumbnail and nodded. "Aye," he answered softly. "S'pose that'll do."

He was a slave to her whim, and every word or phrase she threw at him he carefully translated to Gaelic, rolling the words around his mouth, watching the way she squirmed in her seat as he did so. He wondered if it was in fact the words that made her skin flush, and her pupils dilate, or if it was his voice. He wondered if he was having the same reaction to her asking soft, bedroom words in English, or if it was her physical proximity to him. He certainly felt a stirring in his loins as her lips moved, and her low, sugary voice melted over him.

He told himself it was only natural, after having been without a girl for so long. Connor had always been rather lucky in love. Murphy, on the other hand, had crashed and burned more times than he cared to admit. More often than not, it was the patience that hindered him, his careful nature, his need to feel things out before acting. Women, it seemed, didn't want that. They wanted a man that would take action. Didn't they?

Wasn't that why Pam had gone for Connor? Because he'd taken initiative?

"Murphy?"

Pam's voice pulled him to the surface, and he blinked blearily, finding himself back on his brother's girlfriend's vintage couch, her chintz pillow tucked under one arm. He sniffed and sat up. "Time is it?" He mumbled, before fumbling for the cigarette behind his ear.

Pam smiled sleepily from where she was curled on her armchair. "It's almost ten."

"Jesus," Murphy groaned, standing abruptly. "M'sorry," he shrugged. "Fer fallin' asleep."

"Don't be," Pam said, shaking her head. "You obviously needed it. Long days at the plant?" She stood and stretched, moving towards Murphy with the intent on collecting his empty glass.

Murphy reached for it at the exact moment, and paused when her fingers brushed against his. His breath caught, and he heard a hitch in Pam's throat. Quickly, he swung his gaze to hers, and he didn't realize just how close she was until he felt her breath pass over his jaw.

He said the first thing that came to mind as her gilded green eyes turned molten and began to slowly pour over his features.

"Can I get anudder?" he gruffly asked, holding the glass up between them.

"Of course," Pam answered, perhaps too quickly. She turned towards the kitchen, wading through the palatable tension in the room.

Murphy followed her first with his eyes, wandering over the sway in her step, the hitch in her hips, the suppleness of her thighs, and the smooth, naked skin of her neck. Next, his feet carried him forward, and his eyes continued to linger on her body. Somehow, he ended up pressed against her, crowding her into the cupboard, and the whiskey in her hand was forgotten.

"Murphy?" she rasped softly. She turned in his arms to face him, her lashes fluttering as she searched his face.

His hand closed over hers where it clutched the bottle of Bushmill's, and he held her fast, scanning the long, graceful line of her throat and the delicate curves of her collarbones. When he finally looked at her mouth, he let out a breathless sigh as Pam wet her lips and then huffed.

The hand that wasn't clutching hers slid over her hip, and he angled his head down, watching as his inked fingers wound through her belt loops to snag the waistband of her jeans, and then dip down and barely skim the edge of her panties. It seemed she was warm and smooth everywhere, and Murphy licked his lips and glanced back up at Pam from under his eyebrows.

"If I'd made the first move, would ya be wit' me, an' not Connor?"

Pam blinked, not expecting his question, and her jaw worked soundlessly as she searched for a safe answer.

She came up empty handed, and merely stared, dazed, as Murphy managed to move closer, pushing his hips into hers, his hands pulling her against him, fitting her pelvis against the front of his jeans. "D'ya know what ya do ta me, girl?"

Once more, Pam was speechless, but her breath shuddered out as she began to tremble in Murphy's hold. Finally, her head began to shake from side to side, trying desperately, and failing miserably, at discouraging Murphy. "Your brother…" she began lamely.

"So fuckin' sick of Connor always gettin' his own way," Murphy explained. "He just fuckin' takes, doesn't even check wit' anyone else. He sees somethin' an thinks it's his." One hand left her hip to twine in the ends of her cinnamon waves, and then he was wrapping the long, thick tresses around his fist.

"I…I am his," Pam croaked.

The fact that she hadn't tried to move from Murphy's grasp wasn't doing much for her argument.

Murphy smirked faintly. "Really?" He pressed into her once more.

Now they were touching everywhere: shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and he rutted against her once as he angled his head down, pulling back on her hair to tilt her face up to his. "Want ya," he muttered lowly. His other hand palmed her cheek firmly, holding her in place, and he touched his tongue to the soft swell of her bottom lip. "I want ya so bad, Pamela."

Pam whimpered at the flash of his tongue, and the heat in his words. He sounded so determined, and she was pained to realize that her hips had taken up the rhythm of Murphy's at their own accord.

The dark MacManus twin pushed his mouth onto Pam's, igniting a burst of arousal that started at his tongue and went to his toes. Her muffled cry was cut off by his kiss, and when she didn't react at first, he took the lead, angling his head the other way, and making sure to tilt her head with him. His hand tightened in her hair; the one on her face gripped her jaw until she softened, and tilted her hips into Murphy's cock that was quickly rising beneath his fly.

There was nothing but sensation and sounds – harsh breathing, wet, soft touches of lips and tongues, and the occasional gasp or sigh from one, or the other, or both. He moved his hand from her cheek to her neck, pressing his thumb against her pulse until he heard a whimper catch in her throat. He continued on, sliding his palm down the bared skin of her chest until he curved over one full breast. Holding her firmly, his fingers flexed, and cupped, and molded the supple flesh, and he ground his palm against the nipple that hardened beneath it. She moaned then, long, and deep, and the sound sailed down Murphy's throat and made his insides tingle.

Suddenly, as if doused with cold water, she pushed him back, yanking on his hair, and pulled his bottom lip up between his teeth until she tasted copper. Murphy broke away with a growl, his eyes snapping with cool, blue flames. His mouth was as wet and swollen as hers, and he prodded his bottom lip with his tongue as he caught his breath and watched Pam watching him.

Her hand rose shakily to her mouth, pressing where his lips had been mere seconds before. She couldn't look away from the heat in his eyes. "You should go," she murmured.

Murphy swallowed her taste and his fingers loosened where they clung, winding down her neck, along her shoulders, down her torso, until they hooked into the hip pockets of her jeans. "Connor's got tha late shift on Friday. I'll be here at seven."

He didn't get an answer. He was certain he didn't need one.

That Friday evening, Pam opened her door promptly at seven, like she'd been waiting next to it.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Whaterya up to then, tonight?" Connor asked as he rubbed a towel over his damp hair. He stepped from the shower and padded across the loft to sink down into a kitchen chair._

_Murphy shifted on the couch, craning his neck back from the TV to glance at Connor. "Dunno," he lied, turning back to the program he was watching. "Maybe go fer a pint or three. See what Rocco's doin'."_

_"Ya should swing past Pam's," Connor suggested._

_Murphy froze where he reached for the remote, and quickly tried to detect any hint of knowledge in his brother's voice._

_"She's off, yeah?" Connor continued, tossing the towel over his shoulder and fishing along the table for a cigarette. " Probably bored ta tears, too. I told her ya weren't busy tonight."_

_"Oh yeah?"_

_"Aye," Connor chuckled. He paused for a moment and then raised a questioning eyebrow at the top of his dark-haired brother's head where it peeked over the back of the couch. "Don't tell me yer feelin' hostile t'wards her again? Thought you two worked out yer differences?"_

_"Aye, we did that. I just…" he trailed off. __**I just want ta fuck yer girl, Connor, that all right wit' you?**__ He snorted to himself at the thought. "Aye, s'pose I could go over…check on her."_

_Murphy dug his tongue into the not-quite-healed bite mark in his bottom lip and closed his eyes briefly, before pressing his palm against the fly of his jeans. He shifted again. _

_"Thanks, brudder. M'off fer tha weekend; told her I'd make it up t'her." Connor grinned broadly and stood up, moving to the pile of laundry at the end of his mattress._

_Murphy nodded silently, glancing at the TV once more._

* * *

"Body parts," Murphy announced when he shut the door behind him.

Pam blinked from where she leaned against the back of her armchair, watching as Murphy plucked the buttons to his coat open with one hand. In his other, he clutched a bottle of whiskey and two packs of cigarettes. After he'd toed off his boots, he passed her in a waft of fresh, autumn air, tinged faintly with the scent of old blood, and smoke. It made her skin tingle, and she followed him into the kitchen, wary of her position this time.

"Body parts," Pam repeated.

Murphy worked efficiently, having mapped her kitchen the first night, and he pulled glasses and cracked open the bottle of Bushmill's. Cradling both glasses in one hand, he shifted to the table and plopped down in a chair, nodding towards her. "Aye," he answered easily.

Pam stared at him for a long, silent moment.

Had she imagined what had transpired that first night? Her skin still burned in all the places he'd touched her, and her tongue flashed out, trying to taste him once more.

"Figured that'd be the obvious next step," Murphy continued, carefully unwrapping the cellophane from the pack of cigarettes. As he lifted the lid, he cocked his head, and, drawing one cigarette from the pack, he tucked it into the corner of his mouth. Next, he produced a lighter from his hip pocket and snapped it to life, lifting the flame to the tip of the stick between his lips.

He looked up, the flame making his pale skin glow.

Pam's mouth dried. She didn't bother correcting his assumption.

She let his cigarettes burn into the night.

* * *

_By anyone's standards, he'd been a right fucking git to her that night. It had been a test, for himself, and for her, to see who could last longer. They'd both failed. Or passed, depending on who was doing the grading._

_The idea of that night's lesson had come upon him as climbed the steps of her brownstone – the entire walk over, he knew what he __**wanted**__, but wasn't so sure how to get there. Connor would just take. He wanted to say he could do the same without any repercussions, but it seemed…well, it seemed too 'Connor' And while in any other situation, it would be perfectly logical to start with body parts when teaching a second language, in this case, he knew it was downright cruel. For both of them. The thought made his mouth tug up in a wry grin. It made his blood warm nicely. It also made his jeans feel a bit tighter._

_He'd seen her pulse jump in her throat as she sat across from him. Despite the chill outside, she'd worn nothing more than a tank top and skinny jeans. Her feet were bare, her hair tied up on her head, and Murphy's eyes had skittered from that thrum in her throat down the line of ink curling around her left side. When he'd gone through everything from '_gruaige_' to '_cosa_', he downed the dregs of his whiskey and stood, and made her do it all over again._

_She'd gasped when he'd yanked her from her chair, his hands rough on her wrists, his cigarette clamped between his teeth, smoldering, the smoke obscuring the shadows that fell over his eyes. Holding her at arms length, he merely puffed away silently, until his fingers snared the curling tendrils of hair she'd tucked behind her ears. He nodded expectantly._

_"_Gruiage_," she'd murmured in a voice she'd hoped wasn't shaking. "_Cluas_," she'd answered after a questioning pointer finger grazed the shell of her ear. He winked, and she said, "_súile_," making him chuckle. Then he'd licked his lips._

_"_Béil_," Pam breathed._

_He had her attention._

_He smirked and slid his hand lower, pausing at her pulse, his fingers once more wrapping the slender column, his thumb worrying her heartbeat. He felt her swallow._

_"_Scornach_," she'd rasped._

_The word vibrated against his palm. He squeezed very gently, watching her lips part, her pupils spin wide. The tattoo that started on her shoulder was his next goal, and he walked his fingers to where it started, and she repeated after him, "_ghualainn_, _lámh_," as his touch raised goosebumps from the curve of her shoulder to the inside of her wrist. Changing course, he swept his hands up over her torso, silent until he reached her breast, where her skin was twitching with anticipation. She hadn't forgotten the way he'd touched her just the past Tuesday night, and he watched, amused, as her breath caught._

_"_Cíche_."_

_He'd even purred it, and Pam had responded instantly, pushing herself into his searching hand, her fingers fluttering from the fists she'd clenched them into, itching to touch Murphy._

_As if he knew her course of action, he shook his head. He didn't really care about her hands on him. It was the endless curves of golden skin and firm flesh that he was aching to map, with his hands, and his tongue, and anything else he could. Yes, he wanted to fuck her, that was the end goal, but right now, all he wanted was the feel of her, the smell of her, filling him up, wiping out everything else._

_His fingers flexed, fluttering along the waistband of her jeans. Again, he was mesmerized by the sight, tattooed skin that said anything but 'truth' tracing along the worn denim before gathering the hem of her shirt in his fists and pulling it up her body. He worked quickly, knowing that if he delayed anything for the sake of propriety, she'd hesitate, and maybe he would, too. She didn't want patience; that much was evident with the way she'd been drawn to Connor's forwardness._

_The thought of Connor made Murphy growl, and he yanked the tank top from Pam's body, mussing her hair more than it already was. Her head began a slow side-to-side shake, as if she was working up the courage to tell him no. Murphy didn't give her the chance. They were both teetering on that razor-fine edge of 'should we, shouldn't we', and so he closed the distance between them. He moved quickly, and smoothly, and sank his tongue into her warm, wet mouth._

_Her pulse reminded him of the jackrabbit he and Connor had snared one summer when they were eight, thumping rapidly, waiting for the inevitable. He moved his mouth over her cheeks and chin, sucked along her jaw until he closed his teeth over that thumping spot and bit her none-too-gently._

_The result was a sharp cry, and he smirked against her skin, standing straight and kissing her roughly once more, ignoring her calling him of a son-of-a-bitch. The clasp of her bra clicked open on the first tug, and he peeled the straps from her arms and dug his hands beneath the fabric cups that fell away from her soft, perfect breasts._

_She thought about stopping him, about pulling him away, but he moved fast, and with purpose, peeling her clothes off and burning her resolve down with every brush of his mouth. Whatever she had left was turned to ash as he lifted one breast to his mouth and sucked at the peak reverently, his eyes flicking to hers. He grinned, her sensitive flesh tucked between his teeth. Leaving off the one nipple in favor of the other, he lapped at her flesh, sending white-hot flashes of aching lust lashing all through her body._

_"Murphy," she murmured, catching his hair with her fingers._

_He shushed her, the sound muffled against her flesh, and he sucked and nibbled at her with more urgency, his hands already sliding down her taut abdomen to work on her belt. "Let me," he breathed, pushing her hands away when they closed over his. He was on his knees seconds later. "C'mon, Pam, I want ya." He groaned as he parted her fly and slipped his hand in between the denim of her jeans and the silk of her panties, and licked wetly around her navel, pulling more skin between his teeth._

_Inch by inch, he tugged the rest of her clothing from her body, pulling one foot free from where her jeans and panties pooled. As he stood, he grabbed her leg behind her knee and pulled it up, opening her to his delighted gaze. He licked his lips, and Pam whimpered in her throat, feeling very much like she was in over her head._

_He let his breath wash over her mouth as he slid two fingers down between her legs. Her warmth and wetness made him grin, and when he sank his fingers inside, her hips sought him out as her back arched. Her hand reached behind her to clutch the countertop, the other still tucked into the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck. She didn't know she'd pulled him to her nipple until she felt his lips close over her, felt his fingers flex inside of her and delve deeper, and then she was lost to the wet sounds and moans that Murphy pulled from her._

_When Pam cupped her own breast and held it to his lips, he fucked her faster with his fingers. Good. She wanted this as much as he did, and they were both putting everything else aside, indulging in selfishness, reveling in adultery, and greed, and lust. The thought of sinning with her was like a drug, making him giddy. Her fingers smoothed over his face, cupped his jaw and held him against her, and he sucked and bit her again and again. Around his fingers he was soaked, and he forced a third inside of her tightness, causing her to groan long. She opened for him without hesitation, hissing 'yes,' as his thumb joined the fray and pushed against the hard button of her clit._

_She felt herself lifted, her ass landing on the counter, her heels banging the lower cupboards, and on instinct widened her legs, making room for his body, for his arm to move. He pulled from her nipple with a wet sound, and his fingers flashed down against the abused peak seconds later, slapping her, making it sting and snapping her senses to life. Her eyes shot open with a wail and Murphy grunted in reply. Then, he tugged her hair free and wrapped the length around his fist, and bade her 'hold on'._

_She clutched the edge of the counter, drawing her heels up, pushing her pelvis out, fucking herself onto Murphy's searching fingers. She'd be bruised tomorrow, a small price to pay, and she cried out brokenly as she felt another surge of wetness pushed from her body. The hand in her hair tugged harder, and her hips arched as well, pulling Pam's body taut as a bow. She let her eyes close. She let her breath take her over._

_"Say me name," a voice demanded hoarsely in her ear._

_"Fuck," she uttered tightly, desperate to come._

_"Say it, lass."_

Her eyes opened to Connor standing between her thighs, his length running smoothly inside her snug warmth, and then back out, over and over.

She winced at the dull ache from the previous night's activities, and the churning guilt in her blood. Connor grinned, misreading her expression, and put more heat, and more power, behind his thrusts.

With a gasp, she swallowed a desperate cry and clung to Connor's shoulders, burying her face in his neck. "Connor," she whispered.

_But in her mind, it was Murphy, again, and always_.

Connor felt her lips move against his skin shortly after she'd said his name.

He couldn't have known it was his brother's name she kept a secret.

* * *

_Some Irish Translations (here's hoping they're close, if not perfect!)_

_gruiage: hair_

_cosa: foot_

_cluas: ear_

_súile__: eye_

_béil: mouth_

_scornach: throat_

_ghualainn: shoulder_

_lámh: arm_

_cíche: breast_


	4. Chapter 4

"Where did yer red panties go, lass?"

Pam lifted her head from Connor's chest and blinked dumbly at him.

He'd dragged them to bed after pouncing on her in the doorway to his and Murphy's flat, and now he was sprawled back on the mattress, Pam draped over him.

He waited for her to reply.

She shrugged and pressed her face against his chest, flipping her hair out, trying to hide the heat in her cheeks. Leave it to Connor to ask about the panties he'd bought for her within the first week of their relationship.

_She hadn't seen that pair since Friday._

_Since Murphy._

"In the wash, I guess."

"Hmmm," was Connor's careless reply.

Pam bit her lip at how easily her lie had come.

"Wear em' t'morrow, aye? Yer a fuckin' dream in em'."

"Sure," she mumbled, wincing at yet another lie.

Connor hummed again and absently twirled the ends of her hair around his fingers.

Minutes passed in silence, and it was the door bursting open that roused them both.

Murphy sauntered into the flat, a case of beer in one hand, and a pizza in the other. "You two done fuckin' yet? I'm starvin', an' I'm not about to eat this on tha stairs out front." He breezed past the pair on the mattress, his eyes finding Pam's. Connor groaned and closed his eyes, annoyed with Murphy's timing, and the darker twin took the opportunity to send a smoldering gaze in Pam's direction.

Pam bristled and sat up, taking the sheet with her.

"S'not like I haven't seen tits b'fore, Pam," Murphy chuckled, sinking into a kitchen chair and flipping the pizza box open.

Her guts twisted as she scrambled for her shirt and jeans, pulling them both to the bed.

Connor was already up, parading across the space as naked as the day, and he clipped Murphy upside the head for his comment. "Ye fuckin' git, don' say tings like dat."

Murphy protested at Connor's blow, and then watched his brother move to the toilet to take a piss. Murphy turned back to Pam, his eyes alight with brutal honesty. "All I meant was ya don' have ta be shy, lass." He licked his lips and tilted his head pointedly. "We're all family here."

"Tha fuck is yer malfunction, Murph?" Connor called after he'd flushed.

Murphy lifted a slice of pizza from the box and took a huge bite, answering Connor with a shrug. "M'just tired," he offered lamely. His eyes flicked to Pam's. "Haven't been sleepin' well. Been havin' all sorts o'dreams."

"Well, don't fuckin' take it out on Pam. She's not tha reason ya can't sleep."

Murphy's fervent chewing slowed, and he swallowed thickly before scowling at the table.

"It's fine, I understand," Pam muttered shakily.

Connor gaped at the woman. "Don't be lettin' him get off easy, lass." He turned back to Murphy. "When was tha last time ya went ta confession?" He reached around Murphy and stole a piece of pizza and wrestled two beers from his brother before retreated back to the mattress.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Pam suddenly asked.

Connor frowned as he plopped down. "Dreams are a manifestation of a guilty conscience. Ya sinned lately, brudder?" Connor chuckled, but his attention wavered again as Pam stood, hiking her jeans up and quickly buttoning her blouse. "Where ya off ta in such a hurry? Thought ya had tha night off?"

"I just remembered I'm supposed to meet a friend for dinner," she explained hurriedly.

Both twins watched her with a curious eye. Connor stood, stuffing half the piece of pizza in his mouth and chugging back the beer. "Aye, I'll walk ya, then."

"No, it's okay. Stay and eat."

Connor shook his head, already stepping into his boots. "It's fine, lass. Really. I don't mind." He turned to his brother. "Ya wanna tag along?"

Pam's heart crept into her throat as she looked across the loft at Murphy's narrowed gaze. Slowly, he shook his head, and reached for another beer. "Maybe next time. You two go on. Been a while since ya spent any time alone, aye? And ya still got a few night shifts next week before schedule rotation, Connor."

Connor grumbled, but nodded, and helped Pam into her coat. "Aye, true enough." He slipped into his own jacket and ushered Pam out the door.

* * *

The door closed and Murphy leaned back, heaving a sigh. He'd been walking on thin ice there. Unsure of what had made him act like that towards Pam, he scrubbed a hand over his face and took another swallow of beer before closing his eyes, and remembering their last moments together the night before.

She'd come hard for him, and long, and the way she'd gasped and clung to him afterwards was enough to make him want more. He'd been stupid to think he'd only want a taste.

_"Say somethin'," he'd growled as she stood at her front door watching him pull his boots on._

_"I don't know what I'm doing," she murmured._

_Murphy snorted and stood straight, reaching and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd say ya know just fine, girl."_

_"This will kill Connor."_

_"Only if he finds out."_

_Pam sighed. "He'll find out."_

_Murphy cocked an eyebrow. "Ya plannin' on tellin' him, Pam? Because I'm not."_

_"He'll find out," she repeated. "Connor always knows."_

Murphy stared hard at the door his brother and Pam had just left through. She hadn't been with Connor very long, but it seemed as though Pam had Connor's number already. Of _course_ Connor would find out; that was how his brain worked. He could sniff any scheme, any lie, any deceit out and drag it into the open if it served him. Unfortunately for anyone directly involved, they didn't know Connor knew until it was too late.

Murphy lit a cigarette and chewed at his thumbnail, wondering if his brother was figuring shit out.

* * *

"Pam," Connor ventured as they walked in chilly evening air. "Can I ask ya somethin'?"

Pam quickly looked to Connor, expecting to be confronted by Connor's unwavering gaze. Instead, he looked rather…perplexed, a term Pam had never associated with Connor before. She could practically hear the gears in his head turning, however, and she proceeded with caution. "Uh…sure," she breathed, shoving her shaking hands into her pockets.

"Have ya noticed Murphy actin' strange lately?"

"What do you mean?"

Connor looked at Pam, unable to decipher her expression, and he shrugged, before turning to the street once more. "I dunno…he hasn't been himself lately. I just thought that you've been spending time wit' him these last weeks, so maybe he's said something?" He looked to Pam again, and scowled at her wary look. "Ye _have_ been spendin' time wit' him, haven't ya?" Connor pressed on. "Has he been seein' someone? That sneaky fucker, he's got a girl, hasn't he?"

Pam's mouth opened and closed in a panic, and her heart began to beat rapidly.

"Hail Mary!" Connor whooped, laughing as he did a little jig on the sidewalk. "That fucker _is, _isn't he? Who is she? Have ya met her?"

"No," Pam blurted out, shaking her head. "I mean, no, he's not seeing someone."

Connor blinked, his face going serious for a moment, but then he was grinning again. "Ah, ya just don't know him like I do," Connor explained. "He gets kinda snarky at first. He doesn't like talkin' about it, aye? Likes ta keep tings to himself, until he gets his feelins sorted out." Connor continued, convincing himself that Murphy had found himself a girl, and was keeping low key about it.

"Well, he's doing a good job of hiding it," Pam offered with a flat chuckle.

"You'd…" Connor paused again. "You'd tell me if ya knew, aye?"

Pam nodded, her blood sluggish as she lied through her teeth. "Yes. I would."

Connor smiled broadly and cupped her face to kiss her soundly. When he'd finished, he let her go with a series of smaller, softer kisses, until he groaned and held her at arms length. "Aye, well, here we are," he announced, pointing to the sign over the door. "Want me ta come in an' make sure she's here? If she's not, I can wait wit' ya an' have a pint."

"It's okay, really, Connor." Pam flicked her wrist out and checked her watch. "You have to be at work in a few hours, anyway."

Connor grunted and grabbed her wrist, looking at the time. "Fuck me, yer right. Well, have fun. Stay out o'trouble, aye? Ya comin' ta mass in the mornin'?"

"I have a few chores at the studio tomorrow," she lied.

"I'll say a Hail Mary fer ya, then," Connor whispered, kissing her cheek. "G'night, lass. I miss ya, aye?"

Pam nodded, stepping to the door of the bar. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Connor nodded with a smile. "McGinty's. Five o'clock. I don't work until midnight. Come down, have some dinner and a pint."

That, she figured, she could do. A public place with Connor nearby – what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

I drank alone at the bar Connor had walked me to. Four beers and I was feeling precarious. Halfway between home and the flat shared by Connor and Murphy, I had a choice to make. I knew what I wanted – to see Murphy again, to yell at him, to unleash the anger that had been bubbling since he barreled into the flat earlier that evening. It wasn't that he didn't have a right to come and go as he pleased in his own space. Every word out of his mouth, however, had been directed towards me. Had he done it to bait me? To spite me? To test his own luck, and Connor's inherent intuition? As the last of my beer passed my lips, I cursed loudly in my head. Murphy was a brat. Connor was, too, but at least I knew that up front. Murphy was petulant in his silence and his seemingly broody behavior. I was learning that right away. I felt like some new toy that had been left under a Christmas tree in some long-ago MacManus living room, but without a tag.

They were fighting over me. At least, that was how Murphy viewed it. Connor didn't know the meaning of competition, but the resolve that I tasted on Murphy's tongue was clear enough. Connor had something, and so Murphy wanted it. Was that it? Was that the only reason for his actions? My guts turned again at the thought. I hoped that wasn't the case; the twins were growing on me, exponentially, at an alarming rate, and each in his own right. I should have known the minute the pair walked through the front doors of Unlimited Blue, and if not then, surely when I'd put ink in their skin, the most intimate of processes I could imagine. I'd branded them with my mark.

Connor had done more than enough to repay that favor, and though the handprints and rope burn faded, the feeling was still deep, and it was honest, and it was frightening and exhilarating all at once.

I wondered if Murphy was trying to do the same, but going a different route, through my mind, rather than my body.

I left the bar shortly after I finished the fourth beer, and turned to take the road home. I made it safely enough, and hurried past the kitchen, which still struck me silent and unmoving as I attempted morning routines – there, next to the coffee maker, was where Murphy had dropped me to the counter and done things that still made me blush. In the bedroom I stripped, and then went immediately for the shower.

As I searched for clean clothes a little while later, the earlier exchange with Connor had come to fore. He'd expect to see the red panties he'd asked about, and while I could imagine he'd have the perfect punishment for me if I didn't comply, sooner or later, he'd really wonder where they went. I needed to get them back. At least, that was my reasoning for my next actions. Dressing in a daze brought on by beer and too much thinking, I headed back out, pausing for a shot of whiskey and to collect my own resolve. I was going in to get that underwear back, and to give Murphy a piece of my mind.


	5. Chapter 5

I pounded on the door of the MacManus flat, and waited. It was barely one; surely Murphy was still awake. I knocking again, I heard a string of expletives, followed by, "Feck off, no one's home!" Pressing my ear to the door, I listened, and heard the drumming spray of the shower.

"Fuck." I stood straight and weighed my options. I could wait it out, at least until I heard the water shut off, but it was cold in the hallway. The warmth of the liquor I'd put back was starting to wane. I wasn't going to back down, however. I tried the doorknob, and sure enough, it was unlocked.

Murphy hadn't even bothered to throw the chain. So, I went in, and was greeted by the sight of his very naked, very wet back. One hand was braced on the wall, and the other was somewhere at the front of his body. By the way his shoulder was moving I had a good idea of what he was doing. His dark head was bent under the spray, water cascading around his face and obscuring his features for the moment. Pushing the door closed with an audible thud, I leaned against it.

His head came up at the sound of my entrance, and he whipped around with a scowl firmly set on his features. "Tha fuck…" he sputtered, flicking his sopping hair from his eyes, and reached for the taps, cranking them off. Turning fully to me, his hands lifted and pushed his hair back, and immediately my eyes went to where his cock stood stiff and proud, curving back towards his belly.

"Wasn't expectin' ya," was his greeting, throaty and thick with his self-induced arousal.

My mouth had dried upon seeing him fully naked. Sure, I'd seen him without his shirt when I'd tattooed him, but this was completely different. _He_ was completely different. Connor was golden and wired power, whipcord muscles, and had a smattering of fine, blond hairs over his chest, that darkened as ran below his navel. Murphy was pale, shockingly so, and the ink that covered his body stood out in stark relief. He was bulkier, too, with rounded muscles, impossibly broad shoulders, and a solid torso. The dark hair on his chest was sparse, and thick between his thighs.

My belly quivered alongside my resolve. "You took my underwear the other night," I rasped, forcing my eyes to meet his.

He smirked and padded casually across the floor to where his towel hung over a kitchen chair, and he tugged it around his hips. The thin, white terry did nothing to hide the still burgeoning erection. I couldn't help but keep looking at it.

Lighting a cigarette, he moved towards me, and I shifted against the door, pushing my chin up in defiance. I wouldn't let him gain the upper hand. As soon as he neared, however, I felt cornered, and my breath became faster. His hand flashed out and snared mine, pushing the sleeve of my jacket back to glance at the face of my watch. "That why ya came here at one in the mornin'?" He stepped back a few inches, and let his eyes travel down my body, his hands pushing my coat open. He licked his lips. "Dressed like that?"

That's when I became aware of how much heat and dampness I could feel coming from his bare skin. I'd put a dress on; a simple wrap of cloth tied at the waist, and when my thighs pressed together, trying to relieve the pressure building between them, I felt the rasp of opaque black stockings, and the tug and press of garter belts where they clipped to the tops of them.

His eyes found mine as his fingertips gently skated along the neckline of the dress, and he pulled one side away and briefly inclined his head, peeking. "Well, I have yer panties, lass, but ya left yer bra at home, it seems."

My nipples tightened, brushing against the fabric of the dress. My hands made fists at my sides.

His hand moved again, gliding up along side us, and I held my breath, waiting for him to touch me in some manner, but he merely reached for the hook that was beside the door frame, and pulled his rosary free. "S'tha matter, Pam?" Murphy asked gently, stepping back and blowing smoke over our heads. He slipped the string of smooth, wooden beads over his head, and the cross tumbled down his chest to hang just over his navel.

"I just…" My breath left me in a hot sigh.

Murphy moved away and towards the kitchen. "You wanna a drink?" I watched as he rummaged around and found two clean glasses and a bottle of vodka.

I took a moment to collect myself. _Too close_, my mind scolded. I shook my head, but followed after him. "No, I want my panties back."

He poured anyway, and handed me a glass before sipping from his own. "Sure you don't wanna fuck, instead?"

And just like that, desire shot through me like a white-hot arrow, piercing me from the top of my head and settling low in my belly. My breath shook on the next inhale, but he cut me off before I could even think of anything to say.

"_I_ wanna fuck, Pam. Ya interrupted me in tha shower, there," he explained.

I slammed my glass of untouched vodka down to the table. "I didn't come here for that," I said tightly. I'd already lied to Connor a handful of times that day, and so it wasn't a stretch to lie to Murphy, or to myself, for that matter.

"Of course not." His voice was laced with humor, and it made me seethe. He placed his glass next to mine and watched me expectantly.

"What the hell is your problem, Murphy? You think this act is working? You think being a selfish prick will work on me?"

"Worked fer Connor," Murphy snapped back with a sharp gaze. "Tell me, Pam, what _would_ work? Fer you, I mean. D'ya want me ta be a cocky bastard like me brother? Figured you liked guys like that; ya jumped inta bed with him soon enough…"

I slapped him.

Hard.

My hand stung as the _crack_ still resonated around us.

The bastard had enough cheek to actually _grin_ as he looked at me. "Didn't know ya liked it rough, Pam."

That was when things got out of hand.

I didn't protest when he yanked my jacket down my arms and slung it aside. I gave enough of a fight while he twisted me in his hands, and the muscles in his shoulders bunched, turning me so that he was pressed hard against my ass and the edge of the table was digging into my hipbones. I turned pliant when his hand skidded up my back, over my dress, and clamped onto the back of my neck. I let him pin me there, my cheek pressed to the cool wood of the table, and shivered with a pathetic whimper as he dragged the hem of my dress up and tucked it under my hips.

He wrapped one hand around my hip hard enough to leave bruises, and with the other hand ran his fingertips up the cleft of my ass, snagging the back of my thong and pulling the material taught against my skin before tugging it to one side. Holding it against one cheek, he pushed me apart, exposing me to the damp air of the loft. I didn't need to be facing him to know where he was looking; his eyes scorched me as they tracked up and down the backs of my naked thighs and finally zeroed in on the place where I suddenly, and very badly, wanted him.

I held my breath and waited. With another push on my neck, Murphy grunted and plunged deep with one solid stroke. I winced, and hissed. There had been no preamble beyond our words and my blow, and the brush of his fingers moving my dress aside; I was wet, but only just. I made no other sound, and he didn't wait, and set about with a brutal, fast pace, pushing the air from my lungs with a breathy cry each time he hauled me back with his hip and forced his own forward.

The table legs dragged over the scarred linoleum as he rode me hard. I managed to get a hand beneath me, and pushed up, trying to keep up with him. He filled me, amazingly so, and was thicker than his brother. Daring to reach a hand down, my fingers glided over where we met, and I trembled, feeling how well he fit inside. Sobbing, I grazed over the bundle of nerves that had hardened with Murphy's pistoning hips, rolling it gently until I began to clench muscles around his smooth hardness.

His pelvis crashed into my ass with every move, and the sound was hollow, skin slapping, and his breath sailed in and out of his nose as he worked. I could only move with him, and when I caught his rhythm he growled and pulled me back my shoulder, still pinning my hip with his other hand. His forearm banded over my collarbones, his hand cupping my shoulder, and I collided with the hot breadth of his chest. Goosebumps rose on my thighs as his teeth sank into my earlobe, his tongue chasing the sting away. Still, his hips dug, and the hand on my hip moved to my belly, cupping me firmly as he ground deeper inside.

"You drive me fuckin' crazy, ya know that?" he hummed, his mouth next to my ear.

I nodded frantically, the brogue and the words casting their spell and turning me into a wanton creature. "Yes," I whimpered, wiggling my hips.

"Yes," he echoed. "Do I do the same to you?" The hand on my shoulder dropped to my breast and he clutched it roughly, his blunt nails digging into my skin.

He fucked me harder.

"Wanna hear ya, girl," he said, pulling my hair from where it stuck to my face, nuzzling my cheek before his teeth glanced off my jaw. The hand on my belly slipped lower still, and took up making hard, tight circles over my clit.

I _screamed_. Loud, in my throat, begging him not to stop, crying out his name until I thought I'd go hoarse, and in the midst of it all, I exploded around him. Each syllable made him go faster, and harder, until his own voice grew choppy with moaning. His fingers tightened where they held my body, his thrusts became desperate, bucking me into the edge of the table, the untouched glasses of vodka clanging madly and sloshing the contents over the sides. Suddenly, he held me fast, kept me from moving, and drove himself to the edge to careen over it. He came swiftly, each pulse scorching a path and making me gasp. The sound of his groan was thick and urgent, and all around me.

He burned away any trace of his brother from earlier that evening. Hours later, I left on shaking legs, my red panties tucked into my coat pocket, and his come smearing the stockings he insisted I wear the entire time.


	6. Chapter 6

On Sunday evening, Murphy watched, detached, as he assessed the couple across from him. Despite the fact he'd kept Pam in his bed until the hour before dawn that morning, his very being rung with hot jealousy, watching as Connor slung an arm over her shoulders and pressed kisses to her cheek, smiling like he owned the world and everything in it. It was a chore not to say anything, not to lean across the table and wipe the smug happiness from his brother's face. Instead, the darker twin had smoked half a pack of cigarettes already, and downed three pints, and he hadn't even been seated for an hour.

"Bout ye," Connor finally asked, kicking his brother under the table. He'd seen Murphy pouting the moment he and Pam arrived. He wondered how long his brother had actually been sitting here, and made a point to inquire with Doc on his trip to get the next round.

Murphy shrugged with a grunt, and blew out a lungful of smoke, stealing a quick glance of Pam. She seemed just as uncomfortable as he did, and he wondered why Connor hadn't picked up on it. She fidgeted where she sat, and was doing a damn fine job of not making eye contact with him. But this time, as Murphy looked through the haze that hovered over the table, Pam's green and gold eyes flashed to his, and Murphy felt it right in his guts.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and reached for his beer. "Just tired," Murphy mumbled quietly, giving a verbal answer to Connor's question.

Connor chuckled, gently elbowing Pam in the ribs. "Aye, right. Fess up, then. I know what's goin' on."

Murphy's head came up sharply from where he stared at the coaster he was spinning, and he forced himself to keep eye contact with Connor, even as Pam's eyes burned into him. He could almost taste the apprehension that flashed from her, and Murphy steeled himself as he sat back in the booth. "Aye?" he croaked.

Connor snorted, his shoulders shaking with glee. "Ya think ya could keep it from me? Jesus, Mary, n'Joseph, Murph, even Pam knows."

Murphy's mask of indifference wavered, and he tilted his head at Connor. "What are ya on about?"

"Who's tha girl, Murph?" Connor chuckled. He lit a cigarette and leaned back, draping an arm over Pam's shoulders and instinctively pulling her closer.

Murphy sputtered, and the irony of the situation was palatable – thick, and overly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. "You've gone round tha bend," Murphy replied.

"An' yer full o'shit, ," Connor continued, pointing a finger at his brother and nodding at the round of shots that lay untouched on the table. "Let's drink ta th'unamed lass, then, aye? You should know, Murph, ya can't hide anythin' from me."

Murphy dared another look across the table, and his eyes found Pam's once more, before he looked to his brother. The look on Connor's face was relentless, and so Murphy heaved a fake sigh, even as his throat began to ache. He licked his lips and finally nodded. "Aye," he said. He curled his fingers around his glass and lifted it.

Connor and Pam did the same, the latter's hand shaking as she put the glass to her lips and threw the liquor onto the fire.

* * *

I never drank whiskey, and for good reason. It skewed my perception, and between Connor's heat next to me, and Murphy's glances my way, my head was swimming. I didn't know what to do, how to act. I was afraid to say or do something that would tip Connor off; that would unravel this endless fabric of lies that was keeping us all together.

I stood abruptly from the table, feeling the alcohol in my knees. Connor and Murphy both looked to me, though I kept my focus solely on Connor. "I need to go to the washroom," I explained lamely.

Connor shrugged and boosted himself to his feet, kissing me soundly. "We need another round." He pulled back and turned to Murphy. "Don't get all broody sittin' here by yerself, aye?" He doled out a playful swat to Murphy's hair and dodged out of the way of the answering jab to the ribs. Laughing, he sauntered to the bar, calling out Doc's name, and pulling up a stool. When he was settled, he turned one last time and smiled at me from over his shoulder. It didn't reach his eyes, which was never the case with Connor. That night, however, I was too preoccupied with the other pair of blue eyes that watched me to feel the weight of Connor's stare.

I knew Murphy would follow me down the hallway. I felt his eyes on my back with every step I took. Slipping into the small, one-room bathroom behind me, he closed the door with purpose, and sound made my heart skitter.

When I turned to face him, he was there, on me, his mouth already assaulting mine with kisses of languid fire and promise. I let him move me, his hands firm on my face, tipping me to meet his lips. Those hands then floated down, one to my waist, the other between my shoulders, and he pulled me into him. I let him have total control, unable to stop the way my body immediately reacted to him. He grunted in response to my submission. I'd fought him last night, attempting to give me a sense of propriety, but in the end, I called his name out, and in turn took him over and over, turning from his mattress, to Connor's. I would have said something, but there was nothing to say, really. I was playing a dangerous game, and he was, too, and Connor would know soon enough.

The thought of the fairer twin was pushed from my mind as Murphy lifted me to the counter, one of his hands already desperately seeking out the heat between my thighs. I wore a dress that day, too. He moaned against my lips as he encountered the soaked center of my panties, and as his tongue slipped gently against mine, he tugged the satin aside and sank his middle and ring fingers in. It was slick, and he slid along nerves and feeling and instinct until the heel of his hand was pushing against my clit: the center of this universe of a moment in the palm of his hand.

He pulled back from our kiss very briefly, and his blue eyes were sharp. He murmured something to me, something in Gaelic, something we hadn't covered yet, but there was heat in his voice, and want, and it matched the same sensations that had been coursing through my body from the moment he first kissed me only a week ago.

We had to be quiet. The din of the bar was heavy that night, as it is every night, but he knew how vocal I could be. It wasn't lost on me that only Connor should know that firsthand. Every slow, sure, deep twist of Murphy's fingers into me made me hiss; it made him sigh and grunt into my mouth, as once again his mouth touched mine. My nails scored the skin on his forearms as I clawed beneath the worn sleeves of his sweater, and he hissed before shoving his fingers deeper, one last bone aching time. When they were gone, I felt balanced on the edge of a very sharp knife.

I heard his belt first, clinking softly in the tiny confines of the bathroom, and his zipper slid down next. As he wrestled his jeans and briefs down to give him just enough room, the hand he used on me cupped my chin, squeezing. Pressing up with his thumb on the underside of my chin, his fingers pressed against my lips, and I had no choice but to open my mouth, to taste what he'd done to me. His eyes narrowed in focus, and he licked his lips in reply. I sucked his fingers, wrapping my tongue around his digits, tasting myself, and the nicotine on his fingers, and the whiskey that always seemed to cling to him. His mouth opened as he panted softly. I was overcome with the thought of taking him with my mouth, of swallowing his length and feeling him in my throat. Then he was moving, pushing our hips together.

I expected him to come barreling in, like he did into the bathroom minutes before, like he did last night. But this was different. It was soft, and there were small movements, more fabric moving, limbs lifting and bending, until he had an angle that suited us both. He slipped in, warm and smooth and silent, and for a breathless moment, we simply stared at each other, the first inches of him breaching the heat and wetness he'd created so quickly.

Reality was seeping in under the door. His hand buried itself under my jacket at the small of my back, and he clutched the material of my dress for a moment, pulling, telling me without words that given the time and the opportunity, he'd strip me down.

He didn't know that he already had.

He palmed my tailbone and pulled me against his hips as he rolled them up and forward, and his forehead ducked to press against mine for a spell. It was almost too much, how quickly he filled me, and how much more he seemed at this angle. I thought last night had been a thorough test of angles and depth, but perched as I was, my hips tilted towards his, moving higher as he lifted me with strong, sure hands, I whined breathlessly, feeling the bruises he'd inflicted twelve hours before. My teeth nipped at the pads of his fingers before I slid my mouth down once more.

More whispered words passed his lips, hot and hoarse, and the hand that wasn't holding me held on for us, gripping the counter where we were perched, as he pushed his boots into the floor for traction. I needed to give him something to push into, and I needed something to react against, some solid weight other than the guilty pleasure I feel thrumming in my hips. I pushed my hand to the mirror behind me, palm skidding along the murky surface, squeaking as his breath quickened. It was just what he needed, that extra bit, and his hips hammered double time. Every other thrust went deeper than the last, and soon I could do nothing but cling to him and brace myself for the storm I know was coming

Murphy took me over, more than Connor ever could. It's not that Murphy was better; he was _different_, and beautifully so, and I was reminded all at once how close and far apart the twins were from each other.

Sensing a shift in me, from the muscles that clenched and held him every time he dug deeper, Murphy reared back, and the fingers in my mouth swept aside. His hand twisted until it was cupped over my mouth, silencing me, making my breath sail from my nose and hiss over the back of his hand. He cooed and he moaned, eyes widening as I clamped down harder on his length. A devilish smirk quirked his lips, and once more those tilted eyes narrowed. He huffed in his pleasure, reducing me to silence, as he took up the space and sound surrounding us.

"Come," he whispered, beckoning me to finish. We didn't have much time. Swallowing thickly, he slowed down, churning his hips, grinding everywhere inside. It was like he memorized every spot that made me shake, every angle that made me moan. A thin wail pressed against my lips, and he shook his head, shushing me. "Just come, Pam," he urged, rocking into me, moving and sliding and sinking deep. He leaned close again, covering me with his scent, and his heat, and his body. "For _me_, Pam," he said gruffly as his lips landed next to my ear. "Come _for me_."

My body went rigid at his command, arching back, my head smacking into the mirror as I shifted my hips just enough for the blunt tip of him to scrape right where I needed him to. Everything else stopped. I heard him tell me to let go, and then something else in Gaelic again, that I didn't understand, but I didn't care, because the heat in the words and the catch in his voice pulled the rug out from under me and made me shatter.

He was pushed out, and he gasped raggedly, and there was the sound of wetness, of groaning, and then he was back, shoving into me a handful of times before he tensed against me, heaving. His broad shoulders shook with his orgasm, and his hand landed on the mirror next to mine.

* * *

"What's eatin' ya, lad?" Doc asked as he watched the MacManus twin drop down on a stool in front of him. Brooding was reserved for Murphy; these days Connor had taken that role, and the elderly barman had found the fair twin seated at his bar more often in the past few weeks.

Connor frowned, lit cigarette bobbing as his lips moved, and he took along drag. "Don't rightly know, Doc." Exhaling, he rubbed his chin and cast a glance back to the table he shared with his brother and Pam. It was still empty, and the sight made Connor's frown deepen. Movement in the hallway close by caught his attention, and Pam reappeared, sinking heavily into her seat. Her expression was one he'd never seen before, and it made him uncomfortable.

"Give us another round, aye? Please, and thank ya." He turned back to Doc and took a healthy sip from the half empty glass before him. "How long has Murphy been down here?"

The older Irishman shrugged and looked at the clock over the alcove that led to the washrooms. "An hour, maybe? Ya still workin' nights, Connor?" Doc moved, pulling out fresh pint glasses from the cupboard. As he filled them, he set out three shot glasses, and poured whiskey into them.

"Couple more, then tha schedule rotates. Can't come soon enough, aye? I miss Pam."

Doc hummed as he worked, and glanced up. "Don't you miss yer br-bru-bru…" He paused and growled, twisting the words until they were straight in his mouth. "Don't ya miss Murphy?"

Connor nodded. "Aye, f'course I do." He tilted his head at Doc questioningly. "He been in here at all in tha last few weeks? Maybe wit' a girl?"

"Not when I've been here," Doc answered.

The bartender's answer didn't ease the niggling in the back of Connor's mind. Doc was a permanent fixture at the bar – it was his name on the door, after all. "I think he's seein' someone," Connor continued, fishing for information. Maybe Murphy had let something slip while he'd been drinking.

"Ya know, Connor," Doc murmured, glancing at the young man, "S-s-seeing is believing, but don't rely on the l-l-l- Fuck! Ass!" Doc sputtered and set the whiskey down before he placed his hands firmly on the bar. "Don't rely on the label on the bottle."

Connor's eyebrow crept up in confusion. "Come again?" he gave a nervous chuckle. Doc's proverbs were persistently jumbled, but somehow, they always held a small ounce of sense to them.

Doc sighed and waved a hand. "Never mind, lad," he groused. The man set the trio of Guinness on the bar and turned, muttering to himself as he moved down the bar.

Connor gathered the fresh pints in his hand after he crushed his cigarette out. When he turned back to the table, he watched Murphy slide back into his side of the booth. A prickle of doubt pulled at Connor's skin suddenly, not unlike his self-proclaimed sixth sense at detecting a lie. He observed the pair in the booth as he approached. Pam shifted in her seat, fidgeting more than she had before she'd slipped away to the washroom. She wasn't one to fidget to begin with, and the way she twisted her hair made Connor's heart flutter uncomfortably.

He hadn't missed the profound silence of Murphy as of late, either. His younger brother had always been quiet, silent as a crypt at times, and he was prone to his darker moods. They never lasted long; at least, never this long before. And Murphy could be secretive, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He didn't do it on purpose, but more as a defense. He didn't have to talk about his feelings at the best of times. The attitude displayed in the last few days was like that when Murphy had fallen in love for the first time. So consumed by his own doubt and anxiety about the delicate relationship, he'd drawn into himself, and refused to tell Connor about it.

Not that Murphy had needed to – Connor had known; had always known, or at least sensed it. But whatever allowed Connor to sense Murphy's truths was muddled. It was like wires were crossed, like things weren't adding up.

Like Murphy was deliberately trying to hide something from Connor.


	7. Chapter 7

Pam slept heavily beside Connor, on her front, her face turned away. He'd put off slumber as he needed to be at work in the next half hour. They'd left McGinty's early, Pam complaining of a headache, and so he'd walked her back to her brownstone, and then talked her out of her clothes and into her bed.

He knew every mark he ever made on her body. He watched them fade, a little sad, but thrilled with the aspect of making more. And she was so beautiful, willingly letting him do what he pleased, her breath catching when he landed a sharp slap to the inside of her thigh, or the way she moaned softly as he tightened the ropes about her wrists. He knew the color of her bruises in every stage, fresh to days old, and loved it best when tears brought on by maddening pleasure tracked down her cheeks to her lips, where she tasted them eagerly.

The mark below her shoulder blade, however, was not his own.

His fingers slid down her neck as he pushed up on one elbow, and he moved his face closer to the small, red lines that marred her soft skin. They were no more than half an inch each, perpendicular to each other, and meeting at a slight angle. The edges of the lines were blurred blue with bruising. As his fingers brushed the mark, his teeth worried his bottom lip.

_Probably ran into a chair. Or maybe a clothing rack at the store,_ his rational mind deduced. He sighed, flopping onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Pam stirred, twisting in the sheets, and draped herself over his chest with a gentle murmur.

"Hey," he whispered, winding the ends of her hair through his fingers. "I have ta go soon."

Pam moaned, annoyed, and pressed her face into his sternum. "Not yet," she hummed.

Connor hummed with her, and slid his hand down her back, touching the strange bruise once more. "Aye, it's just one more night. I'll come pick ya up in tha mornin', an' we'll go ta Mass, an' then get waffles."

"I thought you hated waffles," she chuckled, kissing his bicep.

"_Murphy_ hates waffles," Connor corrected.

Pam tensed against Connor and then blinked her eyes open, pushing her hair from her face. "Right," she nodded. She slid back from Connor and sat on the edge of the bed.

The cool air of the bedroom washed over Connor and he shivered, turning to his side. "What's wrong?"

"These nights are killing me," she muttered.

Connor snorted. "You an' me both, lass." Sitting up behind her, he pushed her hair over her shoulder and pressed his lips to her skin. "Last one. Then it's Murphy's turn." His kiss turned to a playful bite. "An' I can have ya all t'meself." Once more, his fingers trailed up her ribs, and he paused again at the bruise beneath her shoulder blade, applying firm pressure. The resulting gasp from Pam's lips was like music to his ears. "What happened here?"

* * *

The sharp ache and sting made me jerk from Connor's fingers. I twisted around, trying to see what he was talking about. "I don't know," I shrugged. "Probably ran into a rack at the store." In truth, I didn't know what it was, but it hurt the way only a small wound can. I reached around and rubbed the spot myself.

"Hmmm," Connor replied. "As long as it wasn't some other man," he breathed.

His words sucked the air from my lungs, and I became very still. His lips brushed over the offended flesh. _"Is liomsa thú,"_ he growled, moving once more, this time to slide a leg on either side of my thighs, his half-hard cock nestled hotly against the small of my back. The touch of his fingers walking along my thighs from my knees up made me shiver. One hand slipped between my thighs, gripping me tightly, not unlike the way Murphy had back at McGinty's. His whiskers scraped along my shoulder. "You know that, right?"

I shook my head, unsure of his question.

He chuckled, his breath sailing against my skin. "Jesus, Mary, n'Joseph, lass, ya gotta learn Gaelic. I said 'you're with me'."

I nodded shakily. "I know I am," I whispered, my face burning.

"Good girl," he praised, nipping my earlobe.

Then he was gone, slipping into my bathroom, and cranking the shower on.

I clapped my hand over my mouth to hold back the sob that threatened to bubble out. I began to shake, and to sweat, and over and over in my head I repeated to myself, _he knows, he knows, he knows_.

* * *

"Tha fuck are ya doin' here?" Murphy asked from the couch as Connor burst through the door.

"I got anudder pack o'smokes up here," he explained, moving to the kitchen cupboards.

Murphy sat up a little straighter, absently scratching at his bare chest, half paying attention to the TV. Connor opened and shut cupboard doors, muttering to himself.

"Murph! Did ya take em?"

"Eh?" Murphy finally pulled himself from the couch and padded over to where Connor rummaged around.

"Me smokes – I left a pack here yesterday mornin'." He turned from the drawer he was searching and eyed his brother closely. "Oi, ya fuckin' git, ya smoked em, didn't ya?"

Murphy waved Connor off. "Yeah, so what? They're fuckin' smokes, Connor, get anudder pack on tha way ta work." He made a point of looking at the clock across the room. "Yer gonna be late."

"Don't fuckin' change tha subject, ya smoked my cigarettes." He gave Murphy a small shove.

In turn, Murphy slapped his hands away. "Get over it, ya gee bag. It's not like yer fuckin' name was on em."

Connor swung again, knocking Murphy back into the counter. For his part, Murphy wrestled against him, twisting his torso and blocking the short blows Connor tried to land. Eventually, they sprawled on the linoleum, tumbling over each other in an attempt to gain the upper hand. Murphy saw his chance and pulled at the waist of Connor's jeans with one hand, and the collar of his shirt with the other, and effectively flipped Connor onto his stomach.

Connor snarled and wiggled against the floor as Murphy landed in a heavy pile on his back, pushing the air from his lungs. "Don't touch me things, brudder," Connor croaked, breaking off as he began to wheeze.

Murphy grunted, pushing his forearm against the back of Connor's neck. "Fuck you, Conn, ya don't own everytin' ya touch."

Bucking, Connor drove an elbow up into Murphy's side. "Fuck _you_, Murphy. Ya should fuckin' know better."

Murphy coughed, scrambling off of Connor's back to push to his feet. He sagged against the counter as he fought for his breath, his eyes wild as he stared down at Connor. "Are ya fuckin' twelve?" he snapped. "Jesus Christ, Connor, ya been like dis since we was born – what's yours is yours, and what's mine is yours, too? Grow tha fuck up."

The fairer twin tilted his head in askance. His expression was incredulous. "Yer fuckin' wit' me, now, aren't ya?" Connor moved to his feet and sank against the fridge, facing Murphy. "That's what this is about? Yer carrying around hard feelins from when we were growin' up?" Connor rolled his eyes and toed the half-empty, rather squashed pack of cigarettes, and kicked them across the floor to his brother. "Take em, if yer that upset about it."

Murphy bit back a string of curses, and took a few deep breaths. He wondered if Connor would be so careless about giving up other things, too, just to avoid a fight. He shook his head with a bitter chuckle. "I'll get me own," he growled, pushing off the counter towards the couch. He snagged his shirt from where it hung over the arm, and yanked it over his head. Five seconds later, he'd pulled on his jacket, and began working on his boots.

"Should have done that in the first place," Connor chided from where he watched Murphy. "Would have saved me tha trouble."

Murphy glared at Connor and flipped him off, before turning on his heel and leaving the loft. He let the door slam shut behind him.

* * *

By the time he had made it to Pam's, he was _furious_. The walk had done little to quell the anxiety, or the anger, coursing through his veins, and Murphy didn't know if he wanted to fight, or flee, or fuck. He paused on the sidewalk in front of the steps leading up to the brownstone and chewed on his thumbnail.

He probably shouldn't have come. That stunt at McGinty's had been just that – a stunt: stupid, selfish, and serving only to make him sink deeper into the hole he'd been digging since Connor had set his sights on the gorgeous brunette at the second hand shop. Murphy didn't know what it was about Pam that drew him in. Any other time Connor showed interest in a girl – interest that went beyond the few hours between last call and first light – Murphy would graciously bow out, and almost with a relieved sigh. Keeping up with Connor was difficult; vying for attention from a woman who had caught both the brothers' interest was a constant battle.

But Pam was different. She seemed at ease with both of them. Or, at least she had. Lately, she'd taken on Murphy's agonized appearance. He wondered if she had trouble sleeping, if she'd given up hope trying to eat. Did the feelings he harbored flow both ways? There had to be a reason she let him keep coming back to her. Glancing up from the sidewalk, he looked to the window that was her living room.

She was standing there, staring down at him.


	8. Chapter 8

I had never cheated on a man before the MacManus brothers. I hadn't even really thought about it as an option. I wasn't like that – I only needed one man. Hell, I only had _patience_ for one man, but there was something about Connor and Murphy that had instantly reeled me in. And Connor being Connor had shown interest first, so I'd picked up on it. Murphy had circled in the shadows, always present in my mind, but like he was waiting for an opportunity to make his move. I recognized that now.

Had they shared girls before? God, that sounded so horrible. 'Shared'? Really? Still, it wasn't totally impossible; they shared everything else. But sharing means that all parties involved are in agreement, and that they're all aware of the situation. Something told me that me being shared wasn't an option, even if I was a willing participant. Connor wouldn't have it; as carefree and casual as he was, he was possessive, and he was the jealous type, and I didn't think being cuckolded by his brother would go over smoothly.

I needed to tell Connor what was going on. There was no other way around it; I felt that if it came from me, the worst that could happen would be he'd leave me. I'd rather he left me than leave his brother; I wouldn't come between the two.

Forcing myself from the bed, I padded through to my kitchen, stopping to make a cup of tea, and then moving into the living room. I wasn't going to get much sleep tonight, or any night, until I cleared all of this away. When Connor had mentioned Murphy going to confession yesterday morning, I had listened with half a heart. Maybe that was a better place to start. I needed to get my feelings in order. Connor would want to know just how deeply things ran between Murphy and me, and I hadn't even figured that out, yet. I wandered to the window that overlooked the street, and drew the curtains aside, looking out into the night.

It appeared I wasn't the only one losing sleep over this. Murphy stood on the steps below, his head craned up to the window, smoke curling about his head. For a moment, neither of us moved, save for him lifting the cigarette periodically to his lips. Then, he flicked it aside, and bounded up the steps.

The sound of my buzzer made me jump.

The short distance from the window to my door seemed to take forever, and my thumb hovered over the 'open' button that would unlock the lower door for Murphy. Drawing in a deep breath, I pressed it, holding it for a few seconds before releasing. Then I waited. This would not end like every other night we'd been together for the last week. This would simply end. It had to.

* * *

_"Did ya fuck Connor here tonight?" Murphy winced as soon as the words left his mouth._

_"What do you think?" Pam's tone was icy as she answered, and Murphy shivered from where he was curled on his side behind her._

_He nestled closer, and his next words were spoken into her shoulder. "Ya gonna tell him?"_

_Pam bit her lip at the soft, reserved sound of Murphy's question. He sounded like a little boy, but the way his fingers were working over the skin of her side told her that he was anything but. A wide, warm palm slid down over her hip and pulled, drawing her onto her back. Murphy hovered above her, his dark hair hanging in his eyes as he stared down at her with hesitation._

_"I have to," she whispered._

_Murphy nodded, dropping his lips to her collarbone. "D'ya think that's wise?"_

_Pam twisted underneath him, but his hand on her hip held her steady. She felt the tip of his nose graze over her breasts, along the underside; and she heard him inhale deeply. "No," she rasped. Her eyes slid shut as wet, open-mouth kisses landed on her hip bones. Tears pricked her eyes. "I'll end up losing both of you." Her hands settled in his hair._

_He shook his head, his hair brushing over the tops of her thighs, and in her turmoil, she let him push her thighs apart. He settled onto the bed on his chest, his breath fanning over her center, and he watched closely as her breath caught and her eyes flew open, sparkling green and gold in the low light of the room._

_"He'll lose you," Murphy murmured, pressing the side of his face to the inside of her thigh. "You're his; he can change that when he feels like it." Slowly, his teeth pressed against the soft, tender flesh of her thigh._

_The breath Pam had been holding shuddered out of her. "Aren't I yours, too?"_

_"Never looked at it that way," he replied, shifting and laying his palm on her pubic bone, his thumb and forefinger gently holding her open. "You're not mine, Pam."_

_She quivered softly, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she spoke. "Why aren't you with someone?" Her voice was barely audible now as she delved deeper into the shadows that made up Murphy._

_He licked his lips and softly smiled at her. "I'm too busy bein' yers ta find somebody new."_

_The admission struck like lightening, and very quietly, she replied, "It won't make a difference to Connor. He'll be hurt."_

_He brushed his mouth over her swollen clit, the tip of his tongue flashing out against it. She whined, and he sucked her gently, albeit brief, feeling her hips rise as he pulled away. A frustrated groan passed over her lips. "Won't we all," Murphy whispered to himself. He pushed his face against her wetness, and ended the conversation abruptly._

* * *

The hard spray from the shower dug into Connor's aching back muscles, making him groan long and loud. He didn't worry about waking Murphy, who had been snoring soundly when Connor arrived home just after eight – his brother could sleep through anything. Giving his hair a brisk shampoo, Connor sluiced the water down his shoulders and sides, scrubbing along his back as best he could. That was when his fingers pressed into a spot that stung sharply, making him hiss. Spluttering, Connor quickly rinsed off and cut the water, and then reached for a towel.

Leaving a trail of wet footprints, Connor made his way to the scummy mirror that hung crookedly over the toilet, and twisted around. He scanned his back's reflection from over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes as he discovered a small, reddened mark near his spine. He could barely make it out, and pushed up on his toes, twisting that much more, trying to get a better angle. Two small, reddened lines were there, perpendicular to each other, meeting at a corner. He prodded it again, this time with his thumb, and frowned. He hadn't run into anything at work, he was certain. The only thing that had happened –

His head swiveled to where Murphy sprawled on his back, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, his rosary slung low, curling against his abdomen.

He'd fought with Murphy. Had been pinned to the floor by the lout as they wrestled. Connor crossed to where his own rosary hung and he plucked it from the wall, holding the cross in his fingers. He traced the edges, pressing the corner into the tips of his finger.

Murphy's rosary had dug into his back.

Connor's eyes found his sleeping twin once more. What was it that Doc had said? Something about seeing is believing, but don't trust the label on the bottle? As Connor turned the rosary around in his fingers, he did the same with Doc's advice in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Pam's naked back and the small, reddened mark that had marred her skin.

He dressed quickly, and left Murphy sleeping well into the morning.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ya look like ya hardly slept."

I blinked blearily at Connor as I stepped back from my front door, and rubbed my temples. "Thanks, Connor, that's what every woman wants to hear when she wakes up." My brain whirled. I had seen Murphy out the same door barely two hours ago, and my lips still tingled with the kiss he'd given me. I could still smell him on my skin.

Connor shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the hook where Murphy had hung my bound wrists a mere six hours earlier. I quickly looked away and moved towards the kitchen. "You want coffee?"

"Tea, if ya have it."

In the kitchen, my hand wrapped around my mug from last night, the cold and drowned tea bag still stuck to the bottom of it. "Sure," I answered flatly.

"Ya having bad dreams then, lass?"

I jumped, startled at how close Connor's voice was, and turned quickly to find myself pinned between my counter and him. My stomach churned thickly at the familiar position, and a watery smile wavered on my lips. "Ah…just restless," I shrugged. "Too much caffeine during the day, maybe."

Connor cocked his head at me and was silent for a moment as he looked into my eyes. "Ya ready fer church, lass?" He asked.

I looked down at my oversized t shirt I had pulled on to answer the door. I'd been wearing Murphy's when I'd walked him to the door, and he'd peeled it off of me, leaving me standing naked when he left. "I'll need to change," I murmured. Pushing past Connor, I filled the kettle and set it on the burner to heat. "Can I trust you not to burn the kitchen down if I leave you in here while I get dressed?"

Connor shrugged. "Don't know. Sometimes things get outta hand, even when ya have tha best intentions."

I paused in the doorway, my fingers curling into the frame. "Connor," I started, turning to face him. "There's something we need to talk about."

He nodded, looking over his shoulder from where he rummaged through my cupboards searching for tea. "Go get dressed. We'll go to mass, an' then ta breakfast, like I promised. We can talk then, if ya like."

I wasn't so sure I could sit through an hour long mass with this looming over my head. The way he was looking at me, the way he said things so casually, and calmly – too calm, for Connor – only served to twist my anxiety to almost unbearable levels.

"Connor," I tried again.

"Hurry up, yeah? We hafta go an' pick up Murph on tha way." His blue eyes snared mine, and his gaze was dark and brooked no argument.

"Right," I nodded, turning towards the bedroom. I was numb as I closed the door behind me.

What did one wear to tell her boyfriend she'd been sleeping with his twin brother?

* * *

"Jesus, Mary, n'Joseph, he's been in there fer a spell. Wonder what wicked things me brudder has been up to lately."

I looked up from where I was staring into the open hymnal laying in my lap, and glanced at Connor, who was scoping out the confessional. I didn't have any answer for him, so I remained silent, and looked back down to the words that held little meaning for me.

The walk over to the church from the twins' flat had proved to be awkward. Connor noted that Murphy looked like he hadn't slept, either, but the tension between the two was palpable. They'd fought recently, I could tell the way Murphy's eyes cut to his brother, and the way Connor's shoulders bunched, but I couldn't be certain what they'd fought about.

When Murphy returned, Connor stood from the pew. "Finally," he groused. "Pam?"

I looked up at him in question. He held his hand out to me.

"What?"

Connor nodded towards the confessional, and I looked towards the small booth. I'd never liked the confessional. My dislike was based on more on the small quarters than what actually went on inside. When I was younger, I figured that if I sinned and God was everywhere, wouldn't he know? I didn't have to tell anyone about it. But, my grandmother had always told me that sometimes it was just better to talk. I looked back to Connor and Murphy. Talking to Murphy had resulted in us getting naked. Talking to Connor would no doubt be explosive, especially if I didn't know what to say. I sighed and stood up. "Fine," I groused. I shoved past the brothers and marched towards the booth.

* * *

"You were in there a long time," Connor muttered as Murphy sank into the pew next to him.

"Aye, so?" Murphy pulled his rosary over his head and wrapped it around his wrist, and kicked the kneeler down before settling on his knees.

Connor sank down beside his brother. "How many Hail Mary's, then, eh?" He stared at Murphy's profile, watching his twin's jaw tick.

He didn't answer Connor, and instead bent his head, rolling his thumb over the first bead. As he began reciting the Lord's Prayer, he could feel his brother's eyes on him, but he refused to meet his gaze. Connor had been strangely…calm when he and Pam had come to collect him. For her part, Pam had avoided most of his glances, and made it a point to not walk between the brothers like she usually did. And when Murphy would pull his concerned look from Pam, he'd find Connor staring at him almost expectantly, his blue eyes sharp and observant.

Murphy had lost count already, but he'd been praying half-heartedly. He sighed inwardly, and added it to the new list of things he'd need to confess next week. He stole another glance at Connor, finding his brother on the kneeler beside him, his head bent, and his lips moving silently. Murphy continued to stare, as if willing Connor's thoughts to spill into his own.

"What is it, brudder?" Connor murmured, not even opening his eyes or looking up. The rosary slid through is fingers until he touched the cross.

Murphy swung his gaze back to his own rosary, but it didn't stay there long. The creak of the confessional booth opening drew his attention, and Connor's head lifted, too, and they watched as Pam slowly emerged, blinking at the light and rotating her shoulders, as if she'd been cramped in the space.

Connor's hand tightened on the cross in his hand and he hissed as the corners bit into his palm. Swearing softly, he opened his hand and held it out to Murphy. "Fer such a little ting, it sure does leave a mark, aye?"

Murphy swallowed thickly, hearing the calculation in his brother's voice. He looked up to Connor.

Connor shuffled on the kneeler and pressed right against Murphy as they watched Pam move to the candles and light one. "Strangest thing, this," Connor said conversationally, holding his palm out between them. "Ya roughed me up good yesterday, Murph. Ya left a mark on me back." He nodded to Murphy's rosary.

"Aye," Murphy hissed, feeling the jaws of a trap he hadn't know was set slowly begin to close around him.

"An," Connor continued in his too-light tone, "stranger still: Pam has a mark just like it."

Murphy's empty hand clutched the pew in front of him.

Connor moved then, like a viper, and snared Murphy's neck with one arm, the crook of his elbow pressed right against him. He tugged Murphy hard, wrenching his brother's neck, and held him against his chest as his lips pressed to his ear. "She's _mine_, little brudder, an' ya'd do well ta remember it," Connor growled. He could hear Murphy's heart pounding. He waited a spell and then let Murphy go, roughly shoving him away. "It's a sin ta lie, Murphy," Connor reminded as his brother opened his mouth.

* * *

"Search your heart. What does it tell you?"

I chuckled humorlessly in the confessional. "It tells me that they're more trouble than they're worth."

An answering snort came from the other side of the screen.

I sat a bit straighter. "Father…you know who I'm talking about, don't you?" It wasn't a question.

He paused for a moment and then replied, "I do not presume to know what is in the hearts of men or women. That is for God to know and to understand."

I sighed again and sank back. Of course he knew who I was talking about. I hadn't given him all the details, but I'd given him enough for him to draw his conclusions and come up with the MacManus brothers as the main source of my distress.

"Let me ask you this: do you love them both?"

"Yes," I replied slowly.

"But you love each man differently?"

"Maybe?" I rolled my eyes and groaned softly. "I'm friends with both of them, first and foremost. I don't want to lose them, and I don't want to break their hearts, but if I have to, I will."

"Would it come to that?" the priest asked.

"I hope not. I would hope that they would be able to see past this…whatever this is, and it would make them stronger. Forgive me for being blunt, but I doubt this is the first time they've slept with the same woman. And they've always remained brotherly."

"A friend loves always, and a brother is born for adversity."

I rubbed my temples, wishing I'd paid more attention in Sunday school. "Father?"

"My dear, you must be truthful in all relationships in order for them to succeed. I'm not saying there will not be hurt feelings when this comes to light. If there isn't, then there was no love to begin with. There will be heartache, of that I am certain. And there may be a time of silence, of reflection, and of guilt, above all else. I have seen these two face adversity before, of the darkest kind, and yet they remain whole in two separate parts. I have no doubt in my heart that these two love you very much, and each other and that is a rare thing in this world, to love so fully and unfettered.

"I know. I know that, Father, and I know that I need to tell him. It's the actual telling that I'm hesitant about. I can't imagine the look on his face."

"Is it not better to know that look than to live with lies, child?"

I smiled to myself, despite my heartache. "Aye, Father."

"Three Hail Mary's, one for each of you," the priest decided. On his next breath, he added, "it's good to see you in the church, again. Do not feel like you cannot find solace here, child."

"Thank you, Father," I whispered.

He bade me go in peace.

I said my Hail Mary's as I lit candles, one for each of us. I know they were more for the remembrance of those who had passed, but I felt like these next few hours would burn away what we'd been before. I hoped that we would move on from this, in the best way possible. I turned back to the pew, and to the twins, and approached them.

"Breakfast is on me, boys," I stated, watching as they shuffled up from the kneeler and replaced their rosaries. Both of them were flushed, and Connor's shoulders were tight as Murphy's jaw ticked. I looked from one to the other. "We need to talk."

* * *

end


End file.
